Last Chance Saloon

Stand off

The evening was beginning to move towards the turning point that inevitably occurs around 1am at English university house parties. Social butterflies that had drifted in for a couple of hours to make their presence felt had, by now, fluttered off to warmer climes. Couples were beginning to nod at each other, making coded signals to leave, the inevitable “other party” suddenly remembered. Those whose partners were at the “other party” were starting to wonder if they’d be waiting for them when they got back, struggling wilfully against leaden fingers to sound lucid and alert on a hurried text message. All of which left those of us who were single and among acquaintances, if not friends, to hold out for a few remaining hours until all possible amusement had been wrung out. It was the hour of the last chance saloon. It was at this time that I found myself staring into the bottom of a sixth can of supermarket lager having a quiet moment of reflection as to why it was not me who had such reasons to leave. Suffice to say, the moment passed rather quickly after the seventh was opened and soon I found myself to be enjoying the evening once again.

The settee I was sat on was threadbare, lumpen and misshapen but still managing to exude that warm sense of comfort that can only be felt by sitting on a fabric couch whilst intoxicated. It had a certain solidity and foundation that I found I appreciated more in my current state. The table opposite was high, Swedish flat-pack chic, and packed high with a tottering skyline of bottles ranging from the dull green glint of a “2 for 1” bottle of wine to the crisp, clinical bite of clear cut everyday value vodka. Most were empty but judging from the sodden, sticky pool that was licking their bases and seeping into the table cover I did have my doubts as to how much of it had been drunk. Already this gripping, matted slick was beginning to collect the detritus that fluttered down from the air around, seeming to glitter and refract in the warm glow emanating from the light above, twinkling in blues and greens briefly before resuming a staid, wringing hue. A glass tumbler was rolling slightly on the table, catching and bending the lamp’s glare into a kaleidoscope. Looking through the glass, the medley seemed to melt further into an acidic dripping of colour, before inevitably rolling back and becoming merely a crystal transparency as before.
A shape obscured the lamp, temporarily casting me into shadow. I slowly raised my eyes. The light behind had formed a kind of halo around her features, each edge wreathed in harsh light, contrasting with the now relative darkness of her face and figure. She wore soft black shorts that stood high on her thigh with a half-lace top tucked in loosely. I couldn’t make out much of her face in that first brief moment but I could see her eyes, white on noir, twinkling coolly, and her lips, half parted in a mischievous smile. I knew that her lipstick was a deep red.

“Hello Jenny”

“Hi Simon”

“Are you having a good time?”

“It was a bit packed to begin with but it seems to have quietened down a bit now”

“Well, I hope you’re still enjoying yourself.”

“Oh I didn’t mean I wasn’t having fun, I prefer it once you can start breathing again. What are you doing sat down there anyway? You’ve not peaked have you?”

“Not yet, there were no seats while it was busy. I like to think I’m taking full advantage now.”

She sat down beside me.

“Well now I am as well”

“It’s a great feeling isn’t it?”

“I’ve needed this all night, Converse may be comfortable but standing for two hours would finish anyone off”

“So how have you been anyway?”

“So so, it sounds sad but I’ve been looking forward to this all week, I’ve had 9-5’s every single day”

“Does it measure up?”

“I’m not sure yet, I’ll have to see what happens. How have you been? How are things with Mary?”

“Nothing really came of it. I settled things a couple of weeks back. Has she said anything to you?”

“We’ve not really spoken much.”

We made small talk for a little while. I made a few jokes, she laughed. She made a few jokes, I laughed. I’d finished my drink some time ago and stood up to get another, a slight rush of blood making me quaver softly on the spot. I hoped she hadn’t seen it.

“Can I get you another drink?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll come with you if you like.”

“There’s no need”

“You don’t know what I like though”

“Vodka?”

She smiled.

“I’ll come with you anyway; I won’t have you trying to get me drunk”

I didn’t know how much help she need on that score, though her confident pouring led me to believe she was still at least on the tipsy side of drunk. I felt a sharp pinch on my arm and looked down. She was smiling that mischievous smile again and nodding her head softly to the side, the soft brown curls swaying softly, lightly tracing her cheek. I turned and followed her eyes, spying a friend of mine sat on the stairs kissing his ex-girlfriend rather forcefully on the mouth. From the way her hands wrenched and pulled him in closer, I assumed the feelings were mutual.

“That can’t be healthy”

“I don’t know. It’s only natural isn’t it? What else do you expect when they’re drunk?”

“I’ve had quite a bit to drink and I’m not sat in the dark kissing my ex”

“Not yet”

Even in the half light I could tell her eyes were glittering knowingly, her lips upturned into a smile that was at once both brazen and virtuous as if she knew what she wanted but would not move for it herself – she needed me to complete the illusion of a conquest. Whether this was for my benefit or hers I couldn’t work out. As I stepped in closer I could feel the cotton of my jeans abrasive against her velvet shorts, offering resistance to be overcome, juddering and starting so softly as to be noticeable only to us. I wrapped my arm around her back, my hand in the small of her back, feeling her muscles at once tensing and relaxing as I exerted the gentlest of pressures, pulling her in closer to me. As I looked down at her face it struck me just how pale her skin was against her top, black on white, white on black, her head, leaning back so gently, casting shadows and enlightening all at once. Her eyes were closed, softly, her eyelashes seeming to brush each other as if to veil her gaze and blind my own features so that all she could perceive was my own silhouette in the light, growing larger and larger until it filled her vision.

Her lips were soft but I could feel the tension lying beneath, straining and sinuous. She responded avidly, her hands clinging to my back as she pulled herself up towards my face. I put my other hand behind her head, wrapping strands of her hair across my fingers as I pull her towards me. It was soft and long seeming to fall apart in waves across my hand, falling and breaking and reforming. I could taste crisp and metallic, the vodka steaming out off her mouth, seeming venal and dirty, like the folly in the middle of a snow-covered field. It only seemed to make it more exciting, this hint of corruption in Eden. She slowly pulled herself away and opened her eyes, that same look of demure coquettishness making her eyes dance softly in the lamplight. She looked down and smiled softly to herself before looking back up. Expectantly. I smiled back.

Slowly, I felt her fingers begin to interlock with mine, warm and smooth and strong, coiling around and around it seemed, tying myself up. A slight pressure. Then stronger as she began to pull me gently towards the door, guiding me by touch and feel. As we stepped further towards the door we moved out of the light from the kitchen completely till we stood in semi darkness, my only sight the pale alabaster of her arm glowing gently, her dark hair rolling quietly down her back, swaying soft with each passing step, each passing second. I felt a tap on the back of my thigh and turned. My friend had pulled himself away and was grinning wildly, drunkenly at me. His teeth and eyes the only islands in a shapeless mass of flesh that I could pick out in the light. As I turned back he was still smiling over Her shoulder, his eyes watching my every move, recording it all to memory before he closed his eyes and his mouth disappeared behind Her head once more. Jenny had left the door ajar. I closed it behind me as I left. Outside there was a cold nip in the air and the trees quivered gently in the breeze, their leaves already beginning to drop and clutter around their roots, leaving branches bare and exposed to the moon above. Street lamps glowed sodium orange that was warm and harsh, transfiguring the street into false shades whose shadows seem thicker for the contrast. The air bit my face and I winced softly. I put my arm around her and walked out down the road, passing in and out of the pools of light that dripped around us; with each burst our huddled figures growing smaller and more shapeless in the distance, blending into one another.

…

Morning

“I really need to be leaving now”

“Oh, ok, cool”

“Yeah, see you then”

“Yeah, bye, I’ll see you around?”

“Sure”

The door closes.

Curtain falls.

<Applause>